


long live the car crash hearts

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Recovery, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-09-28 03:14:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20418977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The kids want to visit El and Will in their new house in Maine and end up having no other choice than to ask Billy. Steve gets dragged into it, because that's what his life is, apparently.





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am Upset™ about stranger things 3 and road-trip fic as an excuse for character development is like, my ultimate jam, so. have this, i guess.
> 
> this story will have multiple chapters, which are mostly outlined and are being written. chapter count might change if it gets too long and I feel like I need to split the thing up, which it probably will.
> 
> the title of this fic is a line from thriller by fall out boy because I'm a big ol' emo.
> 
> warnings for the entirety of the fic: post-traumatic disorder, period-typical homophobia, internalized homophobia, period-typical misogyny, mentions of child abuse, sexual content

“Did you really think,” Billy says as he finally turns to Steve and Max to look at them, “that I was gonna say yes to driving you to fucking _ Maine_?”

This isn’t going too bad, considering everything. Considering that Steve hasn’t talked to or even properly seen Billy since whatever the fuck happened at Starcourt. Considering that they never really talked, at all, not after the last time, when it ended up with blood on both of them and Max having to sedate her brother so he would stop hitting Steve — Steve’s not very proud of that one.

It feels like forever ago, that night. 

Now Steve is standing before Billy in the garage he works in, trying very hard not to look like a scolded child. Max, next to Steve, is doing a way better job than him at that. Steve doesn’t know what their relationship has been like since what happened in July, but Max is used to him in general. Steve supposes it helps.

Sometimes, when there’s a movie night at Mike’s, Billy drives Max to the Video Club. He always stays in the car, waiting for her to come back, with a cigarette in one hand and a magazine in the other, some Iron Maiden, Metallica or whatever he listens to blasting through the windows. Steve sometimes tries to sneak a peek through the glass door without anyone noticing, until Max pops up at the cash counter and tells him and Robin to come at Mike’s on his behalf. When they can and feel like they have the energy to, Robin drives them to the Wheeler’s after their shifts, and the kids make a little more room for them on the couch or on the floor where they have laid down pillows and blankets to make it comfortable. Billy’s never there. Obviously.

“We know it’s a lot to ask,” Max calmly says, fidgeting with the yellow scrunchie on her wrist.

“Why doesn’t _ he _drive you, hm?” Billy says, pointing in Steve’s direction with the spanner he’s holding. “Since you seem to enjoy babysitting so much,” he says, now addressing Steve.

“I don’t have a car anymore and my dad will never let me borrow his for that long,” Steve says, avoiding eye contact. Technically, his parents are going to be away by the time the kids want to leave and Steve _ could _ steal the keys to his dad’s second car and just not tell him, but he’s been fucking up enough as it is, these past few months. Years. Whatever.

“And you have a minivan,” Steve adds.

Billy frowns. “It’s _ my boss’s _ minivan,” Billy says. “I don’t have a fucking _ minivan_.”

“We wouldn’t be coming to you if we had any other solution,” Max says, and yeah. It’s already been hard for her to convince the boys to do that — ask _ Billy, _of all people, but it’s not like they really have another choice. Steve’s car is out, and Jonathan has already planned his trip back to Hawkins months ago, so it’s not like Nancy could take them either. It was Billy or giving up on their idea of surprising El and Will with visiting them for the New Year, because a plane ride costs money and Dustin’s mom doesn’t like planes anyway, apparently, and it was either with Dustin or not at all. 

So. Billy. 

“Please,” Max says, her voice a bit small.

“The answer’s no,” Billy says. He turns around then, getting back to rummaging through the car’s engine. Steve watches him as he wipes dark grease on his blue overalls. He’s wearing those with nothing underneath, his scars on display for everyone to see. Officially, Billy’s been shot by some kind of Soviet secret weapon while trying to protect the kids. He was in the papers and all.

“I can ask Neil for you,” Max says. “I’ll do whatever you want that I can do, ok?” Then, after a pause: “Please. For El.”

Billy stops what he is doing. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t say anything. For a moment, he just stays there, his hands flat on the car. Steve just waits for the bomb to explode, almost can hear the ticking.

“Fine,” Billy says then.

Max brightens up. Steve just stands there with his arms crossed, trying to process that this is actually happening. Billy is _ accepting _. Max hoped it would ; Steve hadn’t even considered it.

“_If _,” Billy adds, “I can get an entire week off. And Harrington’s paying for the gas.”

Steve shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“Great,” Billy says. “Now get the fuck out of here, I’m trying to work.”

Max nods and turns on her heels, her long orange hair flying behind her as she hurries herself to the main entrance. Steve doesn’t move right away ; he watches Billy get back to work once again, watches him get his hair out of his face and wipe his forehead, accidentally getting some oil there, too. He stays there a few seconds too long, and Billy has obviously noticed, but Steve doesn’t get a look back.

He gets out of the garage, joins Max in his car, and starts the engine.

_

“And why do _ you _ have to go with them?” Robin asks, taking a bite out of the pile of pancakes in front of her. Maple syrup drips on her chin ; she wipes it out with a dark blue painted finger, then licks it off.

Steve shrugs. “They don’t wanna be alone with Billy,” he says, cutting a good chunk of pancakes in his own plate. He’s having them with chocolate sauce. Robin thinks it’s scandalous.

“Because you’re _ so _ gonna be able to defend them if he tries anything,” Robin says.

“He’s not gonna _ try _ anything,” Steve says. “And that, right there? That was mean. I’m hurt.”

“Boo hoo,” Robin says. She wipes her mouth with a paper towel before taking a sip in her coffee. “I still can’t believe he accepted,” she says then.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Steve says with his mouth full. “It’s like — Max said that thing about Eleven, and then that was it, he just, like, accepted.”

“What did even happen between them?” Robin asks, leaning back on the red bench, coffee cup in hand.

Steve swallows. “I don’t know,” he says. “According to Max, he doesn’t talk about it. Just acts like none of it happened.”

Max says Billy always leaves at the same hour on Saturday morning. At ten o’clock, she hears him start his boss’s minivan and knows he’s heading out of town for his visit to Dr. Owens. She doesn’t know what happens there.

“That’s messed up,” Robin says.

But then having a murderous monster get into your head has to do things with your brain. Steve doesn’t know how he’d handle that. Probably not well.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, it is.” He plants his fork into what’s left of pancakes and put it all in his mouth. Robin rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

“Everything alright?” a voice asks.

Steve and Robin both look up to the waitress — Betty. She’s got this bright smile on her freckled face.

“We’re great,” Robin says, smiling back.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Betty says. She’s holding a pen and a notepad from taking an order from another table. “Would you guys want something else?”

“We’d love that,” Steve says, “but we’re gonna have to head out to work. Our shift starts soon and our boss hates us, so.”

“He hates _ you _, not me,” Robin protests. She looks up at Betty again. “Don’t put me in the same category as him — I’m nothing like him. He sucks. I’m alright.”

Betty laughs a soft laugh. “If you say so, then you must be right,” she says. “I’ll bring you the bill then?”

“That’d be great, thanks,” Robin says. “I like what you did with your hair, by the way.”

Betty brings a hand to her auburn curls. Steve hadn’t noticed she’d had them cut shorter. “Oh, thank you,” she says, smiling at Robin, before heading back to the bar. Steve watches her go.

“So,” Steve says. “When are you gonna ask her out?” Betty is typing numbers on the cash register behind the bar, fidgeting with the hair behind her ear as the receipt is being printed, her hand occasionally bumping in her big silver hoop earrings. They match her necklace.

Robin rolls her eyes. _ Again _. She looks around before speaking. “The fact that I’m into women doesn’t mean I’ve got a crush on every girl I talk to,” she says, her voice low.

“I didn’t say every girl,” Steve says. “I said this girl. She’s cute.”

“Yeah, she is,” Robin says. “Everyone with eyes would notice that. Doesn’t mean I want to date her or whatever.” She pauses to drink the last few sips of her coffee. “She probably thinks you and I are a couple anyway,” she adds as she puts the cup down.

“Uh, gross,” Steve says, making a disgusted face.

“I _ know _,” Robin says. “Also, she’s straight.”

“You can’t know that,” Steve objects. “Like, I thought you were straight, and look at you.”

“That’s because _ you _ are straight,” Robin says. “I’m not. Therefore I can tell.”

“Wait, lesbians have superpowers?” Steve says. “God, I wish I was one.”

Robin laughs and kicks him in the leg.

She’s wrong, though. It’s not possible to tell. Steve knows that, because he’s he’s heard Kenny bitching about how Billy probably likes to take it up the ass just because his hairspray smelled like a girl’s, and Steve knows it’s bullshit because he uses Farrah Fawcett and he’s _ not _ a fag. He wonders if Kenny’s ever said the same thing about him to other people, if he goes around calling every boy that smells a certain way a fairy. People talk, because they think they can tell. Kenny’s not even the only one to have said something of the sort about Billy — one day Billy had been sick, or had skipped, or whatever, and Tommy H, of all people, Tommy H who worshipped the ground Billy walked on, said something about him probably being a faggot, “because everyone’s seen him with girls, but no one’s actually seen him _ with _ girls”. Steve doesn’t even know what the hell it means, or why Tommy cared so much. It’s not like it’s his business, or Steve’s.

He probably shouldn’t think about it that much anyway.

“Here you go,” Betty says, back from the bar with the receipt.

Robin gets out some cash from her pocket — it’s her turn to pay for the both of them. “Keep the change,” she tells Betty as she hands her a ten dollar bill. Betty thanks her with a soft smile.

And maybe you can’t tell, Steve stands by that ; but you can hope. Steve hopes there’s a chance for Robin. She deserves to get what she wants from life. It’s already a hard one for her.

“Come on, dingus,” she says, already up and putting on her brown corduroy jacket. “We’re gonna be late.”

_

Water drips on Billy’s shoulders and on the floor as he gets downstairs ; he’s barely towelled his hair, and he can feel a drop running down his back, getting under the fabric of his sweater until it reaches the hem of his jeans. He’s getting water everywhere, but Neil isn’t there to say anything. Billy almost takes pleasure in it. Little victories.

He heads out to the kitchen, now that he’s wiped the smell of gas and sweat off his skin ; it’s not even seven yet, and he’s starving. There’s a sticky note on the fridge, otherwise devoid from any pictures, magnets or any form of decoration ; only that calendar that only Susan really minds to fill and check, and a yellow sticky note. _ Susan and I are going out for dinner after work. Make sure to prepare dinner for your sister. _

Billy scoffs. Max isn’t even here. He’ll probably get shit for that later.

He opens the fridge, decides there’s nothing interesting to eat there and gets the bottle of milk out. He takes a few gulps out of it without bothering to serve himself a glass, then starts taking a look in the cupboards. He goes through boxes of Hot Pockets, Rice-A-Roni and considers just eating cereals before settling on mac and cheese. Susan has started buying Kraft since Max complained about the one she had taken not having much taste the other time. Billy fills a saucepan with water and puts it on the stove.

There’s a pile of mail on the kitchen counter, next to where Billy left the bottle of milk. Susan must have emptied the mailbox ; Neil usually can’t be bothered unless he is waiting for something. Billy gets himself a cigarette from the pocket of his jeans, lights it. He starts going through the envelopes ; the water isn’t going to start boiling before a while. He’s got time.

There are mostly toy ads, sales coupons for laundry detergent or like, blenders, and bills, bills, bills. 

One of the envelopes has Max’s name on it. Billy turns it around. _ Sam Mayfield _. Billy throws it back on the counter with the others.

He stops when he sees his name, recognizing the handwriting immediately.

Billy takes a long drag on his cigarette, then starts tearing the paper. The card is a very simple, plain burgundy with the inscription _ Wishing you the best Christmas _ . A few snowflakes decorate it, but that’s about it. It’s an improvement, considering last year ; the last one had an aggressively joyful teddy bear holding a heart that said _ Merry Christmas to the best kid! _and too many flashy colors to be anything but painful to watch. 

Billy studies the design for a few seconds. Then he opens the cupboard under the sink and throws both the card and the envelope in the trash can.

“I asked Neil,” a voice behind him says, making Billy jump.

“Jesus_ Christ _,” Billy swears, turning around. Max is standing in the kitchen with her arms around her waist and snowflakes in her hair. “Don’t sneak on me like that, fuck. How long have you been standing there?”

“A second,” Max says. “Lucas’s mom just dropped me off — she wanted to go to the grocery store before it closed, so. And I was _ not _sneaking.”

“You were,” Billy says, and Max rolls her eyes, but really, she was. Always is. Quiet as a mouse, the little Mad Max, going in and out of the house without anyone noticing, shutting the doors with enough skill to not make any noise. She’s learned to make her footsteps silent. Billy can’t even blame her. He’s learned to play that game way before she did.

“Did you hear what I said?” Max says. “About Neil.”

“Yeah, what about the fucker?” Billy asks, leaning on the counter and not looking at her.

“I asked about, you know,” she says. “If you could drive us to Will and El’s. He said it would be great.”

Billy scoffs. Of _ course _ he would say that. Billy can hear him saying it. _ That would be great _. Billy would one hundred percent sure have been said no if he’d asked for permission to fuck off to San Diego for a day or two, but if Max asks? That would be great. Oh, just think about how great it would be to have your step-brother drive you to the middle of bumfuck nowhere in Maine, Max. Maybe you two are gonna bond on the road and are finally going to be able to look like the perfect little family I want you to be.

At least Neil might leave him be for a while after that. He’s gone softer on him, these last few months. To everyone that wasn’t there, Billy has become this kind of local hero, having stood up for a group of kids, took a couple of Soviet bullets for them. Everyone who was there knows it’s not true, and Billy also knows it’s not why Neil hasn’t beat the shit out of him since.

At least this shitstorm had one good side-effect. Neil still gives him the occasional slap in the face when he comes home late. It could be worse.

“Well, good for you, then,” Billy spits. 

Max held Billy’s face as he was bleeding out in the ambulance and gripped his hand in the post-surgery room until Billy was conscious enough to tell her to stop. She’s been asking him how he feels and been careful with her words and buttering his toasts for him in the morning. She’s been trying so hard to “bond”.

Billy hasn’t been able to look at her for too long since July. It’s too late to be brother and sister anyway ; it’s not going to get any better than this. Co-existing without trying to kill each other is as decent a relationship they’re going to get.

“Did you ask your boss?” Max asks. “For your week off?”

“He wasn’t there today,” Billy says, which is a blatant lie. It’s not exactly like he forgot to ask or like he’s afraid of what his boss would say ; Roger has been pretty supportive on the matter of Billy taking the whole festive break off since before it even started. But that would have meant staying _ home _, and it’s been extra hard to hang around there since Starcourt. Working keeps his hands and mind busy.

“Okay,” Max says. “Can you ask him tomorrow?”

“_Y__es _,” Billy says with an exhausted voice.

But really, he doesn’t know why he hasn’t asked yet. The idea of going to Maine doesn’t sound that bad, oddly enough. At least it gives him an excuse get away from Hawkins for a week, even if it involves Max and her little gang and Harrington.

“Cool,” Max says. “Thanks.”

The water on the stove has started boiling. Billy’s still smoking his cigarette, but there’s so little left of it that he’s starting to feel the heat reaching his fingers.

It could be alright, going to Maine. It’s not the peaceful drive to California he used to dream of before nothing, not even that, sounded peaceful anymore, but it’s something. At least Max is giving him a pretext to leave this town. At least she took care of asking Neil herself, sparing him the task. Billy supposes he can be grateful for that.

Billy takes a last drag on his cigarette, stubs it in the ashtray by the window over the countertop and grabs the Kraft box.

“I’m making mac and cheese,” Billy says. “You better eat the shit.”

Max makes an exhausted face. “If you ask so nicely,” she says.

“Good,” Billy says, and then Max turns around and takes a seat on the sofa, opening a _ X-Men _ comic she had left there while waiting for dinner to be served.

Fifteen minutes later, Billy hands her a bowl of mac and cheese and takes a seat on the armchair, turning the TV on. They eat in silence, not looking at each other, having dinner in the living room just because nobody is there to tell them not to do it.

_

“Mike and Jonathan both told me you were taking the kids to see Will and El,” Steve hears Nancy say from the fitting room. “That’s nice.”

Steve is sitting on a bench, facing a purple curtain. He’s been bouncing his leg for the last twenty minutes, subconsciously adapting to the rhythm of every different song being played in the shop — right now, Wham’s _ Last Christmas _. “News go fast, huh,” he says. “I hope Jonathan hasn’t told them.”

“Of course not,” Nancy says, and Steve can hear the smile in her voice, knows her enough to tell. “It’s gonna be a surprise.”

Jonathan is also coming back to Hawkins to see Nancy for the new year, but that isn’t a surprise for anybody since Nancy herself told Steve. It’s nice for her, really. The more it goes, the less efforts Steve has to make to be happy for them. The more it goes, the less it hurts to see Nancy. They go for lunch sometimes, and Steve doesn’t feel the sting in his chest he used to have whenever she was putting her hair back behind her ear, or smiling the way she did when she said he was an idiot but thought he was cute, or doing anything, really, that had had Steve falling in love with her what seems to be an eternity ago. He can hang out with her and call her a friend without it sounding wrong. She can take him for shopping to help her decide on which Christmas dress she should buy on the twenty-fourth of December because he doesn’t have anything better to do and because that’s what friends do.

And it’s fine. They’re fine. Steve didn’t think it would ever be cool between them again, but it really is. He probably doesn’t deserve to get that lucky.

“What do you think?”

The curtain is being pulled to the side, and Steve raises his head to see Nancy standing in the small space of the fitting room, a hand still on the curtain and the other resting on the dark red fabric of the dress she’s just put on.

“Super pretty,” Steve says, and it’s true — she’s stunning.

“I don’t know,” Nancy says, looking down at herself. “I think it’s a bit much. More prom than Christmas, you know?”

It isn’t, not really ; maybe it would look like too much on any other girl, but it looks like it’s been made for Nancy. She just can pull that kind of outfit off. “I think it looks good,” Steve says. “But, you know. Whatever feels right for you.”

Nancy nods. “I’m gonna try the last one,” she says, and then she closes the curtain again.

Steve can see her feet where the curtain stops, hears the ticking of her heels as she moves to get the dress off. She’s brought her fancy shoes to try the dresses on, to make sure it matches. Steve said something about how it would be cool to wear a dress with her winter boots too — that’s something he’d seen Robin wear to work. A dress with boots. Nancy had laughed, saying she could never pull that off, and while she’d love that, her mom would never let it pass.

Steve watches the shiny black heels hit the floor — _ tick _ — as Nancy puts the other dress on — _ tick _ — raising one leg, then the other — _ tick _. 

“I’m, um,” he says. “Not driving the kids, actually. I’m going, but — my dad wouldn’t let me borrow his car for an entire week and I still haven’t got another one since mine got smashed, so. Billy is. Driving them.”

Nancy stops moving. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Steve focuses on the noise around him — girls chatting in the other dressing rooms, the vague noise of people talking in the store, George Michael’s last lines about giving his heart to someone special as the song ends.

“Billy?” Nancy asks. “Billy _ Hargrove _?”

The more people Steve tells about this, the more he realises how insane it sounds. “Yeah,” he says. “But it’s fine — he’s fine. Nothing’s gonna happen, he’s been — stable.”

It takes another moment before Nancy answers. “Well,” she says. “I trust your decision. And you’re going to be with them anyway, right?”

Steve nods before he realises Nancy can’t see him. “Yeah,” he says.

It’s weird how it took them breaking up for Nancy to trust him. Maybe it’s easier to trust friends. Maybe Steve’s just grown better to her eyes.

“So it’s good,” she says. “Can you help me with the zipper? That one has it in the back.”

Steve gets up and waits for her to open the curtain. She turns around, then, her hands pressed to her chest to keep the fabric from falling, and lets Steve slide the zipper up. When she turns back at him again and asks what he thinks of it, he takes a few seconds to look at it — the dress is a deep dark green, with puffy sleeves that go down to just a bit above her elbows. Other than that, it’s pretty form fitting, hugging Nancy’s chest up until the waist, where it takes a flared shape. Steve doesn’t need to look at it for long to tell Nancy looks good.

“You’re not helping,” Nancy protests. “You’ve said that about all the others.”

“Because they all looked good,” Steve says.

Nancy rolls her eyes. “_Steve _,” she says.

“Alright, alright,” Steve says. “The, uh — the blue one, I think it was the second one? I think that one’s the best. It makes your eyes stand out.”

Nancy smiles. She considers it. “Alright,” she says — trusting him. “The blue one it is, then.”

Steve gets back to the bench and lets Nancy change back to her blue jeans, fuzzy sweater and boots. Paul McCartney’s _ Wonderful Christmastime _is now blasting its way through the store ; it’s the fifth time Steve’s heard it today. He’s been counting.

“Take care of Mike,” Nancy says. Steve raises his head, looking at nothing, his vision lost in the curtain’s purple fabric. “I know he’s old enough to take care of himself, but he doesn’t — talk to me much. And I’m worried.”

Steve thinks about Billy, about how Max said he never talked about what happened, and it seems like no one’s been talking that much at all. Steve’s got Robin, and he knows they have the same nightmares, but even with her, the subject doesn’t come up very often.

“I will,” he says. That’s all he can do.

_

“They’re not gonna come,” Mike says, sounding final.

“Max told us they were probably gonna be late,” Lucas argues, a hint of hope in his voice. “It’s Billy. Being on time doesn’t exactly sound like him.”

“Yeah, you know what does?” Mike says back. “Ditching us and putting us in deep shit. That sounds like him.”

“Jesus, it’s been fifteen minutes,” Steve says, his eyes closed, massaging his temple with two fingers. If Mike’s wrong — because there is, indeed, a possibility that he’s right, Steve’s not going to deny that — and Billy comes and gets them, it’s going to be a very long week.

“Even if he comes,” Mike says, “Nothing tells us he isn’t going to leave us on the road and fuck off to wherever. I don’t even know why we agreed to this. The guy tried to get us killed, for God’s sake.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve says. “Will did too, if I remember correctly, and I didn’t see you going on about how untrustworthy he was.”

“Yeah, except Billy kind of tried to kill us before all of that shit with him even started,” Dustin says, and yeah, okay, that’s a fair point. Steve doesn’t think Billy tried to kill them, exactly, doesn’t believe Billy would have gone that far, doesn’t _ want _ to. But he carried the traces of that fight on his face for weeks after it happened, still hasn’t forgot the sting in his jaw when he would try to eat something the days after. Lucas still is uncomfortable whenever he sees Billy, even though he never tried anything else on him after Max threatened to literally crush Billy’s balls with a nail bat. Steve can’t really blame Lucas. He would have spared him the trouble of having to be in the same car as Billy Hargrove for two days if he’d could. 

God, he would have spared himself the trouble. He doesn’t want to think about how this is going to go.

“This would never have happened if you could have driven us,” Mike barks.

“Oh, wow, sorry that my car got crushed to bits during the fucking fight at the mall,” Steve says. “I really could have avoided that one, for _ sure_.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dustin says to Steve. “He gets immature when things don’t go his way.”

“Don’t _ start_, Dustin,” Mike says. “Jeez, this is stupi—”

Mike suddenly stops speaking as he’s interrupted by a hoot that lasts way longer than necessary. They all turn towards the door, and it takes a good while before one of them moves, but Steve ends up getting up to open the door with the kids on his heels. 

Billy’s minivan — _ his boss_’s minivan, whatever — is in the street, half parked in the lane, the engine roaring quietly. Billy’s hand is still on the horn even as he plants his eyes in Steve’s through the opened window. Steve can see Max hiding her face on the backseat.

“Get in, losers,” Billy shouts as he finally — _ god_, finally — lets go of the horn. He’s still staring at Steve in the eyes, and for a moment, no one moves or does anything.

“You heard him,” Steve says, turning towards the kids and gesturing at them. “Grab your shit. We’re leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you liked this chapter? consider hitting the comments section and checking my social media! yes! self-promo!
> 
> [art blog](http://robomori.tumblr.com/) / [ personal blog](http://robomind.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/robomori)


	2. too much of a good heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took forever to write. hope you enjoy.

“I never said the movie was  _ bad _ ,” Max says. “It’s just — I’m just disappointed that they told us Leia was Force-sensitive and then went, like, nowhere with that. It’s just a bit underwhelming.”

It’s been a bit less than an hour since they’ve left Hawkins, and Mike and Max are already arguing ; have been for the last twenty minutes, actually, or maybe it just feels that long. Steve hasn’t exactly been keeping track. He’s making a point of looking at the road and only the road, keeping his focus there, because if he looks at his watch too often, he’s gonna go insane. Eyes on the road, hand on the bat — putting it in the trunk wasn’t even a question. Billy didn’t even bitch about the nails scratching the seat.

Sometimes, though, he can’t keep his eyes from wandering to his left to take a quick glance at the hands on the steering wheel. Steve looks a little bit up, then, tilting his head, but too much, careful not to get notices, and he watches Billy’s brows frowning, his clenched jaw, his messy hair. Then he gets his eyes on the road again. Billy already looks like he’s on the verge of snapping, and knowing him, he’s the type of guy who yells at you if you stare too long. There’s already enough tension in the car as it is. Mike, Max and the Mötley Crüe songs playing in the car are doing an excellent job at keeping it at high level.

“We don’t know for  _ sure _ that she’s Force-sensitive,” Mike argues. “That’s just, like, speculation.”

“Uh, have you forgotten the part where Obi-Wan  _ explicitly  _ confirms that Yoda was talking about Leia when he mentioned the other one?”

“Yeah, but what I mean is that we never  _ see _ her using the Force!” Mike exclaims, and it’s a little bit tragic that Steve has been spending so much time with these kids, because he doesn’t need to see Mike to picture the exact gestures he does with his hands when he gets riled up. “For all we know, Yoda could have been wrong!”

“That’s like, my  _ whole point _ , Mike!” Max protests. “We could’ve had that! We could’ve seen Leia finding out about her affiliation to the Force, maybe training to go and fight Vader too! That would have been such a cool move! But we didn’t, because these movies are made made by men who’re too scared to give women power, so all we got instead was a lousy innuendo that went nowhere!”

“You know, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that Leia wasn’t supposed to be Luke’s sister at all in the beginning,” Dustin says, opening his third —  _ third _ — can of Slice with a  _ psh _ noise. “Apparently, Yoda’s line in Empire Strikes Back was supposed to be an allusion to Luke’s secret sister, but it was gonna be a whole new character they didn’t have time to introduce in the end, so it ended up being Leia.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Lucas says, joining the conversation. 

Four voices now, and Billy’s music still blasting through the car radio. A headache is starting to grow in the back of Steve’s skull. Already. There’s no way he’s gonna survive this.

“It’s not bullshit!” Dustin exclaims. “I read it. It’s true.”

“If you start believing everything you read, you’re gonna end up real dumb, man,” Lucas says.

“Even if what Dustin says is true, it’s not even the point of what I’m saying,” Max says, sounding really pissed off now. “The point is they ended up making that decision in the end and we have yet to see Leia using her fucking powers!”

“It wouldn’t have added anything to the plot anyway!” Mike almost shouts. “Alright, she’s Force-sensitive, but if they said it and didn’t show it, it’s probably because they had to keep on with the actual story and didn’t have time for—”

“For fuck’s sake,  _ shut up _ !”

This time, Steve doesn’t try to be secret when he turns his head to look at Billy. Doesn’t really think about it. It’s not that he’s surprised ; if anything, the most surprising thing about this is that Billy didn’t snap earlier. 

“We’re gonna be in this car for a long fucking time,” Billy barks. “So if you wanna talk, either keep it quiet or shut the fuck up.”

Nobody argues, or even speaks, from then. The kids don’t even pick on the fact that they kind of have to shout if they want to hear each other over Billy’s loud music, even though that would be a valid complain. But it’s Billy’s car — kind of, anyway — and it’s Billy driving them, and they know he could pull over and leave them on the sideroad if he wanted to.

So the minivan is quiet, after that, or at least as quiet as it can be with the singer of Mötley Crüe screaming about a bastard he considers dead ; considering everything, Steve will take as much peace as he can get. He gets back to his “eyes on the road” policy, then, hiding his watch under his sleeve to avoid being tempted, trying to make minutes go by faster, to travel in time. He went back to see  _ Back to the Future _ with Robin after everything was over. Starcourt was fucked, but there was still Hawkins Theater, and everyone started to go back there after the fourth. “Don’t tell anyone,” the owner had told them as they were smoking outside after the movie. “But I’m kind of relieved there’s no Starcourt anymore. I’m sorry about you kids losing your jobs, and all, and it would be awful had someone died, but, you know, it was starting to get difficult making ends meet.”

Robin and him had started talking about the film, then. Steve had kind of lost track towards the middle, because he was thinking about something else for like, a minute and then couldn’t understand what was happening. Still, he was sober. He got the movie. It’s not a particularly hard one to get into, even for him.

And Steve wonders what he’d do, if he were given the opportunity to go back in time. If someone had asked him a year ago, he would probably had thought about Nancy. He would have gone back and done it right, this time.

It was never about doing it right, though. Steve knows that now. Nancy didn’t love him — never did. And it’s fine, really. It sounds less tragic than it did back then. It’s fine.

Maybe he’d go back and keep himself from going at the Byers’ that first time, when Nancy and Jonathan and him fought against the Demogorgon. Because that’s when it all went to shit, right? That’s when his life started to turn into whatever this is, with the babysitting and the monster-fighting and the barely having any friends. A part of this would probably have stayed the same even without knowing about the Upside down, though ; Steve would have still have fought with Tommy, still would have turned a loser, still would have failed all his admission exams. That didn’t came from the monsters. It’s all him.

Still, though. He could do without the nightmares.

Maybe he’d go back to before Billy got flayed, try to unmake that. Prevent him from getting caught. Everything would still have happened the way it did, but at least it wouldn’t have been Billy, and Steve could go back to not giving a shit about him because he’d still be an asshole. That would uncomplicate things.

Or maybe he’d go back even further and try to make friends with him. It was never Steve who started this weird rivalry thing, but — maybe there is something that could have been done. And it’s probably bullshit, because Billy was an asshole, still kind of is. What happened can’t change that. Still — Steve looks at him from the corner of his eye and can’t help but wonder about who Billy really is.

The song is finished, now. It has switched for a calmer, surprisingly soft and ethereal instrumental track.

“You’re not gonna crash the car, right?” Max asks with a voice that tries really hard to sound casual.

Billy scoffs. “What?” he says back.

“You know,” Max says. “The singer of Mötley Crue got into a car crash that killed his friend, so.” The song sounds morbid, all of a sudden. Not soft at all. “Just making sure you’re not planning on following your idol, or whatever.”

“First of all, I don’t have any  _ idols _ ,” Billy says, tone sharp as usual. “Second, he was very fucking drunk when it happened, which I’m not. And third, I’m also not stupid enough to put myself into a prison cell, so no, Max, I’m not gonna crash the fucking car.”

“Since when do you listen to metal?” Lucas asks Max, confused.

“I don’t, Lucas,” Max says, annoyed. “Not when I have a choice, but this story was like, everywhere last winter.”

“I don’t know if you had noticed,” Lucas starts, “but we kinda were busy with other stuff last winter.”

“Yeah, I know, I was there,” Max snaps. “Jesus, does it make you  _ that  _ angry that I read the news?”

Lucas answers with something that sounds more like some sort of grumble than a real sound. Steve can’t make out any word of it, and Max probably can’t either, either that or she chooses to ignore him because she’s already tired, and oh, how Steve gets it.

At last the kids will be happy. It’s been two months since they haven’t seen Will and El, and for a bunch of teenagers who used to hang out together every single day, it’s a  _ lot _ , especially when they’ve been through so much. Hell, even Steve misses them, and he’s never really talked to El or Will. El doesn’t talk very much to begin with, and Will is Jonathan’s brother, and it’s a shitty reason to feel awkward around a kid but Steve is probably a shitty person because he does feel awkward around him, and he never knew what to say to Will anyway. Never knew what might break him, or not. 

Still. It feels good to know they’re gonna see them. It’s reassuring, somehow. All of that shit started when El appeared, and it’s just been so weird trying to get back to normal after something mental happened for the  _ third time _ . It would be almost comforting if El pulled off some bizarre shit because ; that would be less alienating that what Steve’s existence is right now. That’s how fucked his expectations about life have been, these days.

Steve’s head hurts — really hurts, now. He’s never been the kind to be car sick.

“Hey, um, Billy?” Dustin says over the music.

Billy sighs a really audible, exaggerated sigh before he answers. “ _ What _ now?” he says.

“I, um”, Dustin says. “Can we stop somewhere? I gotta pee.”

And Billy sighs, again. “For fuck’s sake,” he says.

_

“Damn, that place’s creepy,” Wheeler says as Henderson goes off to the bathroom. “Are these porn magazines?”

There are, indeed, porn magazines stored right above the cigarettes, behind the counter. There’s no cashier, although it’s possible to hear someone rummaging through stuff behind a closed door not far. Billy stares at the magazines, then at the cigarettes, then back at the magazines. 

It’s not that Billy’s never seen porn in a gas station ; he’s seen plenty. He’s even bought some at that Hawkins station he goes to, adding it to his usual pack of cigarettes and beers, winking at the cashier when she didn’t manage to not look at him after scanning his stuff. It’s just that — that stuff is usually hidden a little bit better, either down or up, not at eye-level right behind the person who’s supposed to be there selling you shit. It’s probably not norm conforming either to have it on display like that where kids could see — where at least one kid can see, right now.

It’s not a big deal. Billy’s seen porn. He’s bought porn. He owns porn. Most of it he’s never even looked at, but still. Everyone’s seen porn. Wheeler’s probably seen porn too.

It’s just that there’s a magazine on the left, right above the Camels Billy usually buys and next to this month’s edition of  _ Playboy _ . There’s a half-naked guy on the cover and he’s looking straight at Billy like he  _ knows _ , and it makes Billy feel sick.

He looks down. The cash register has a little bell next to it. Billy is about to hit it when Wheeler speaks again.

“Can you buy us candies?” he says.

It takes Billy three solid seconds to register what the kid just said. He turns his head, really slowly, to meet Wheeler’s eyes. He expects to look down, like he does with Max, but Wheeler is the exact same height as he is, the little fucker.

“Excuse me?” Billy says.

“You, buying us candies,” Wheeler simply says, like it’s just obvious.

“And why the fuck would I do that?” Billy spits. From the corner of his eye, he can see Harrington, cut at the shoulders by the shape of the shelf right behind him, checking what’s there — chips or cookies or sodas or whatever.

Wheeler shrugs. The  _ bastard _ . “Because we saved your life?” he says.

And Billy just — gapes at him, because there’s no fucking way he just said that, right? Because Billy was fucking out of it for days, but he wasn’t when he decided to stand up in front of a giant meat monster to try and stop it. He was fully conscious, too, when he felt it stab his stomach and chest six times, fully conscious when he fell on the floor and started bleeding out, fully conscious to see the scars forming but not fading every day after that.

“I think it was kinda the other way ‘round, Mike,” Harrington’s voice says behind Billy, and he turns at him then.

“Yeah, but we called the ambulance,” Wheeler says.

Billy turns to Harrington. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to communicate with the look he’s giving him right now, but it’s probably close to  _ can you believe this? _ because Harrington just shakes his head in an apologetic way, a silent  _ don’t bother _ to Billy’s distress.

“Fuck this,” Billy says. “I’m out. If you’re not all back in ten minutes, I’m taking the car and leaving you here.” He gets a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his brown leather jacket, remembers there’s only two left and that’s why he was standing in front of the counter in the first place. 

Billy turns to Harrington, again. “A large pack of yellow Camels,” he tells him, handing him a ten dollar bill. “And don’t use the rest to buy anything. Not for you, and not for the dickheads.”

Harrington doesn’t protest, and if he makes a face, Billy doesn’t stay inside long enough to see it.

The air outside is cold, and the sky is so white it hurts to look at — looks like the ceiling at the clinic, feels like a needle in the crease of his elbow, smells like antiseptic and crushed pills. Billy doesn’t look at it too long ; he’s already dizzy enough as it is. He gets one of his last cigs between his lips and lights it up. The flame isn’t enough to warm up his hands, and his fingerless gloves are not doing a much better job.

At least feeling cold is feeling something other than this fucking mess. There’s that. He lets the smoke spread out in his lungs, and focuses on it, too. The cold biting his skin. The burn into his chest. From where he is, through the glass, he can see the kids and Steve. Max and Lucas are holding hands, seemingly debating on what kind of candy to buy, and Steve is talking to Wheeler about something. Possibly still talking about him. Billy can make out the word  _ dipshit _ by reading his lips. Wheeler flips him off, but he’s laughing.

Steve does that. He can talk shit to people and say whatever he wants and people love him. He’s got the goofy smiles and the sweet eyes and that softness inside, and he’s just — him, and that’s all it takes. Billy’s never been that, never could be, and it wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere further if he was. People like Steve have too much of a good heart ; they get eaten alive. Billy knows it. Neil has made a point of teaching him just that. 

He still looks at Steve, sometimes, like he used to do in the showers after practice. Never for too long, though. Looking at the cover of a gay porn mag for a solid minute is something Billy can live with. Steve is off-limits.

But Billy is an idiot, and he’s never been good at following rules, even when they’re his own. 

So he lets himself look. The creases that form at the corner of Steve’s mouth as he shoots something at Wheeler, smiling. The way he moves his hands in front of himself when he talks and the way he cards his fingers through his hair to put it back in place when it gets into his eyes. Everything else that has been making Billy dizzy since the first time he saw Steve, everything that he had wanted to punch out of him as he’d held him down on the wooden floor, because it was better than let his mind wander to somewhere that dangerous.

Not that it has changed anything. Billy still looks at Steve, and he can hear Neil’s voice in his head, can hear him telling him to look down, saying  _ I didn’t raise you to be some fucking faggot _ .

Steve sees him. Billy looks away. It’s started snowing on the parking lot ; he hadn’t noticed.

The kids storm out of the store about five minutes later. Max and Lucas are holding hand and walking first, Wheeler and Henderson behind them, all carrying a bunch of candies.

“Hey, it started snowing!” Henderson exclaims.

Yeah, no shit.

Luckily, none of them decide to start an impromptu snow war or whatever ; there’s enough snow in Hawkins all winter long for everyone to be used to it, except for Billy, probably, who still isn’t.

Max asks Billy if they can get back in the car. Billy is still smoking. Probably going his second and last cig soon. He buries his hand into the pocket of his jacket, grab the keys, and throws them to Max. He would never have trusted her with something like this a year ago, and he would have been right not to ; she probably would have stolen the car and ran away, like she did that night at the Byers house. 

That’s on him, though. He’d fucked a lot of things up that night.

But things are different. Max gives him a nod as a thank you, then walks to the car with Lucas, their fingers still intertwined, Henderson following them. There’s no acid in her look, and there’s no threat in Billy’s. She’s got her little gang, now, and Billy’s got nothing left.

Things are different.

It takes Billy a moment before he notices that Wheeler hasn’t followed the others, and is still standing to his side. He turns his head and looks at him. Wheeler has his hand buried in the bag of Cheetos he just bought — the corners of his mouth are already orange.

“Relax,” Wheeler says, rolling his eyes. “Steve bought these. You’ll have your precious money back.”

Billy takes a long drag. “And where’s his Highness hiding?” he asks.

“Taking a piss,” Wheeler says. “He told me to tell you that you couldn’t leave without him, because he’s got your cigarettes and your money, so you better wait.”

Billy sniffs. “Of fucking course he said that,” he says.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Wheeler suddenly says, not looking at him now. “I was being mean for no reason. I’m sorry about that. I really am. You did save us and I shouldn’t be a jerk about that.”

“Wow,” Billy says, fake-impressed. “Didn’t know that was an option for you.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Wheeler says. “I said sorry, ok?”

“Apology accepted,” Billy says. “You can sleep in peace. Now get back in the car and leave me the fuck alone.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be a dick now, you know,” Wheeler says. “Like, we know you’re not. Kind of. You can be nice. You can let your walls down and shit.”

“What are you, my fucking shrink?” Billy spits, dragging on his cigarette.

“Fine, ok, I don’t think it’s physically possible for you to be  _ nice _ ,” Mike says. “But you’re not fooling anyone anymore, you know? You’re doing like, a lot of efforts to  _ sound _ like an asshole, but I know you wouldn’t be driving us to Will and El’s if you really didn’t give a shit, so. You can stop. It’s fine.”

“Eat shit, Wheeler,” Billy says.

Wheeler grins at him, the little shit. “Not listening to me, Hargrove,” he says as he walks backwards to the car, shoving at least six Cheetos into his mouth.

He’s turning his back to Billy before he has the opportunity to flip him off. Billy didn’t have it in him anyway. He throws what’s left of his cigarette away, and as he gets the last one to light it up, he watches Wheeler get next to Lucas, hear them yell at each other over dumb shit until Wheeler slams the door and they’re reduced to muffled silence. He can see their frowns and smiles and grand gestures from here. Max takes a bunch of Cheetos from Mike, shoves them in her mouth and wipes her fingers on Lucas’ face. Billy can read the  _ the fuck, Max? _ on his lips, can hear Max’s laugh as she munches on her chips. 

Billy’s second cigarette is already burned down to the half when Harrington gets out.

“Finally done with banging yourself in the bathroom?” Billy says.

“Nah,” Steve says. “It just takes me longer than most people to piss because my dick’s so big.”

“Sure fucking thing,” Billy says.

Steve brings his hands to his mouth, blows on them to make them warmer. The tip of his nose’s red. He’s got a few tiny droplets running down his skin, like he just washed his face before getting out.

“Oh, hey,” Steve says then, fumbling for something in his pocket. “Here you are. As promised.”

He hands Billy a pack of yellow Camels and some change. “You didn’t promise shit,” Billy says, taking the cigarettes and the money and shoving them into his own pocket.

Steve smiles a little smile. “Well, you trusted me anyway, didn’t you?”

_ I don’t know _ , Billy almost says.  _ I’ve forgotten what it’s like to trust anyone _ . He watches Steve’s back as he walks to the minivan. Wonders who Steve trusts. He must have trusted Nancy Wheeler, at some point. Probably not anymore. Maybe that Robin chick he’s always hanging out with. Maybe the kids. Maybe he’s got the luxury to trust more people than Billy can count.

When he joins him in the car, about two minutes later, the kids are talking about the D&D campaign they’ve gotten ready as a surprise for Byers and El. Max is saying she’s gonna wipe their asses with her witch powers. Lucas is arguing that it’s not the point.

“So,” Steve says as Billy crashes in the driver’s seat. “Are you gonna play us a regular band, or do you only listen to musicians involved in murder?”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Real fucking funny,” he says. He pulls Iron Maiden’s  _ Powerslave _ out of its case, puts the tape in the car radio, and starts the car.

_

“We’re gonna  _ die _ ,” Mike says.

All things considered, Steve supposes they might. Or he might, anyway. He’s pretty sure that’s gonna happen if Mike and Billy and occasionally, the others, don’t stop yelling at each other.

“If you keep fucking barking in my ear, there’s a chance, yeah,” Billy spits.

“Oh, yeah, you need  _ me _ to get us killed,” Mike says. “Like the raging storm outside isn’t enough to have you drive us into a fucking tree.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Billy says.

“Just pull over,” Steve says.

“Yeah, I’m goddamn trying,” Billy spits. “But as you might have noticed, we can’t see  _ shit _ , Harrington, so unless you develop super sight and suddenly become able to find a spot, shut the fuck up and let me do the thing.”

“Does being a piece of shit enhance your skills in driving through a snowstorm?” Steve asks. “I’m really wondering, because well, if yes, go ahead.”

“Like being called names, Harrington?” Billy says. “Knew you had to be into kinky shit.”

“For god’s sake, guys!” Max yells. “Can you at least  _ try _ to not make things more difficult than they are for  _ once _ ?”

“Guys,” Dustin says.

“Tell that to your friend over there,” Billy says. “Consider yourself responsible for whatever our fate is from now, Wheeler.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who’s literally holding the wheel,” Mike says.

“What are you two, eight?” Max says.

“ _ Guys _ !” Dustin yells, this time. “Can you stop for a  _ second _ and look outside? There’s a sign there.”

Steve has to wipe off the condensation on the window to see anything, and it’s a hard task even like that, but as he squints and tries to see through the thick snowflakes that seem to grow in number minute by minute, he can see the sign.

“ _ Sheffield _ ,” Steve says.

“I can read, thanks,” Billy spits.

“Oh, really?” Dustin says. “Weren’t you too busy being the president of pricks to learn?”

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Max says, and she slams her face into her hands so violently that Steve can hear it. “I’m gonna open the window and throw myself into that storm. It’ll be less painful that being stuck in here with you toddlers.”

“Please do, Mad Max,” Billy says. “Do you want me to open it? Do the honors? Don’t take too long, though, I don’t want to freeze to death in here.” 

To be honest, it’s kind of impressive that Billy still manages the task of being relentlessly like  _ that _ while also successfully drive them out of the highway to Sheffield. He drives slowly and carefully, as does every passing car they see, and when another Sheffield sign shows up, this time indicating an exit, he turns the wheel slightly to take it while also telling Lucas to please fuck off and let him do this in peace, because Lucas  _ screams _ when he feels the minivan slightly slipping on the road. This, though, is as good as they’re gonna get with that much snow on the road, and it’s kind of a miracle that the car hasn’t crashed in the barrier rail. Or maybe it’s not a miracle and Billy’s just really good at this ; maybe being a piece of shit really  _ does  _ enhance his skills in driving through a snowstorm. Steve isn’t gonna complain. Not everyone can do this and keep calm while four over-excited, yelling teenagers are freaking out in the backseat.

It’s another thirty minutes until they get to Sheffield. Most of them are spent in silence — the kids are still tense, and so is Steve, but again, Billy is good at this. All they can do is wait. When they’re finally there, they still can’t see shit, but Billy finds them a parking lot to crash on until the storm calms down. When the car stops, Steve can physically feel the tension evaporate — some of it, anyway.

“What now?” Lucas asks from the backseat.

Billy’s is taking out his new pack of Camels from his pocket. “Now we wait,” Billy says, lighting up a cigarette.

Mike says something about how they’re gonna get to Will and El’s place three days late if that storm doesn’t stop, and Lucas says they’re gonna die freezing, and Dustin says they’re gonna die starving, but all of them are being dramatic for the sake of it because they fully know there’s nothing else to do but that. Wait.

So they wait.

_

Harrington and the kids have been playing twenty questions for an hour when Max’s stomach grumbles. This, apparently, has Henderson looking at his watch.

“Holy shit,” he says. “It’s eight o’clock. We have to get something to eat.”

“Didn’t you guys have sandwiches or something?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, we ate them for lunch, duh,” Dustin says.

Billy takes a look outside. It hasn’t stopped snowing since he parked the car, hasn’t even calmed down. The snow’s only visible because of the dim orange light glowing above them in the parking right now, and if anyone were to get out right now, they wouldn’t see shit until they ran into something. 

They’ve been stuck for six hours. Billy’s gone through the same three magazines — old car periodicals that have probably been left there by Roger for years — and even started reading one of the books Max took with her to avoid dying of boredom, because there was no way he was going to play games with them. She had handed him  _ Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? _ . “I took it from the library, so don’t, like, stub your cigarette on it,” she’d said.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” Billy’d said. Max had shrugged. In retrospect, it’s exactly something Billy would have done, though, so. Point goes to her. The book’s good, though ; not that Billy will tell her that. She’d never shut up about him secretly being into nerdy shit, and he’s not — he’s  _ bored _ , and also capable of appreciating a good book when he’s got no choice but to read it, thank you very much.

They’ve been stuck for  _ six hours _ , though, and Billy is gonna lose his mind if he doesn’t move.

“I’ll go,” he says, reaching for his cigarettes on the dashboard.

Billy can feel all of the kids looking at him. He can see Steve, too. 

“What?” Henderson says.

Billy takes a cig out of the box, lights it up, and puts the pack and the lighter in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Food,” Billy says. “I’ll go get it.”

There’s a few seconds of silence. Then Wheeler’s voice. “Oh, man,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re finally listening to me! Finally allowing yourself to be nice and all! You’ve come a long way!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Billy says. “Anything to get away from you, fuckface.”

“You love us,” Wheeler says. “You’re gonna get us dinner because you  _ love  _ us.” He’s in a good mood, and that many hours spent in the same car as him have proved that he’s a piece of shit when he’s that way, but a hundred times worse when he wants to argue, and those are his only two modes, apparently.

“Sure thing,” Billy says, voice flat. “What’s not to love.” He blows out some smoke. Sees Harrington zipping his navy blue winter jacket up. “You’re staying here,” Billy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Tough guy wants to prove he can go get some food alone?” he asks.

“Oh, tough guy is devastated to be in the obligation to deprive himself of your company, your Highness,” Billy says. “But he doesn’t want to be responsible in case anything happens to the little shits. So you’re staying here.”

Steve probably wanted to bail out too. He likes the dickheads enough to let them hang around all the time, but it’s been a long fucking afternoon for everyone. It’s on him, though ; Steve signed up for that bullshit when he ran for number one best babysitter in Hawkins last year and won.

“We could just all go,” Steve says.

“I’m fine here,” Henderson says, leaning back into his seat.

“Same,” Lucas says, putting his hands behind his head, and at this point, Steve is sighing, loudly.

“Yup,” Wheeler says, sounding smug.

“I’ll go with you,” Max says.

Billy turns to her. The boys are looking at her with round eyes, and Billy can read a  _ what the fuck?  _ on Lucas’ lips.

“Whatever,” Billy says.

He gets out of the car and slams the door behind him. The light inside lets him see Max leaning over Lucas and Wheeler to open the door, too, and she has to practically climb over them to get out. She asks Lucas to get her scarf and beanie for her, which he doesn’t do, instead stares at her, gaping. She sighs loudly, bends over, gets her shit herself, and slams the door before walking to Billy, who’s already five feet away.

“Not afraid of your gang’s disapproval?” Billy questions.

Max sighs as she puts her red beanie on. “Ha freaking ha,” she says. “I don’t need their approval.” 

Billy knows that. Max isn’t one that can tamed ; he knows, because he tried. It seems stupid that he did, now. Pointless.

Max wraps her scarf around her neck. It’s yellow, with two long stripes — a white one and a dark green one, matching her jacket.

“Let’s go,” she says, and she walks past Billy.

It takes them a while to find anything that’s even got light inside and that is not a house. At some point, Max gets desperate and considers ringing someone’s door to ask for food like some kind of beggars, but there’s no fucking way Billy’s doing that, and nobody is going to give them enough to feed six people anyway. They do, miraculously, find a 24/7 diner by following the glowing red and yellow lights down the road. The place’s deserted, of course ; it’s a miracle it’s even opened, with the weather being what it is and this village having — what, twenty people living in it? Billy’s complained about Hawkins — a  _ lot _ , and he still will until he finally leaves this literal hellhole for good, but it looks like the epitome of fun compared to Sheffield.

They go right to the counter. The waitress goes from looking like life itself is the hardest task anyone’s ever gotten to get done to lighting up as soon as she sees them. There’s like, one other dude in the diner, all old and creepy, and he’s looking at her funny, probably has been for as long as he’s been there. Max asks if they can order take away, and the waitress says yes, sure, smiling as she hands them the menu. They settle on cheeseburgers and fries for everyone, because the place has a cheap formula and everyone likes cheeseburgers. 

Max goes to the bathroom — “because I can’t just put my dick out and piss in the snow like a barbarian like y’all,” she says. Billy sits at the bar and orders himself a beer to pass the time. He’s quietly humming along with the Live Aid version of Queen’s  _ Radio Ga Ga _ when she comes back.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive,” she says, a judgemental look on her face. Her cheeks are still red from the cold outside, making her freckles even more noticeable. She’s taken off her beanie, messing up the hair on the top of her head, pulling some orange strands out of her braids.

“Who’re you, my mom?” Billy says.

“No,” Max says, lifting herself up on the chair next to Billy. “But I’m one of the idiots sitting in your car, and I’d rather not die.”

“Jesus, you’re all so afraid of dying over ridiculous shit, it’s pathetic,” Billy says. It lacks energy, though. Of course they’re afraid of dying. All of them. He is, too. “A beer isn’t gonna get me drunk, alright? And even if it did, I’m not driving until this shitstorm stops.” He points at the snow outside, his beer in hand. “Which’s gonna be tomorrow morning, probably, if we’re lucky, and I’d have sobered up by then. So take a fucking chill pill.”

Max sighs. The waitress comes back behind the bar, asking Max if she’ll take anything while their dinner is being prepared. Max asks her for a cup of hot chocolate. She starts tapping along with the song as she waits, bouncing her legs on beat with the  _ clap clap _ s in the chorus. Billy can see her mouthing the lyrics from the corner of his eye as he downs his beer. 

They don’t talk until Max gets her order and the song is finished. “Thank you,” Max says, taking the mug in her hands. It looks like something that would be in a old lady’s house, with pink flowers painted on the rim and all. “For doing this.”

Billy puts his glass down. It’s almost empty now. “You’ve already thanked me,” Billy says. “I’m not gonna leave you on the road if you don’t do it every few hours.”

Max smiles. “I know,” she says. “It’s just — it hasn’t exactly gone as we planned, with the storm and all. All of this must be exhausting. I mean, it already is for me, and I haven’t been driving.”

“I’m fine,” Billy says.

“Are you?” Max says.

Of course not. She knows that. “What do you think?” he says.

Max takes a sip off her hot chocolate, makes a face when it burns her lips and tongue, and puts it down, keeping her hands on the mug. “You can talk to me,” she says. “You know that, right?”

Billy sighs. “This isn’t really the place or the time, Max,” he says.

“You say that everytime,” Max says. “You say that everytime, and you never talk, and I’m — I’ve been worried, ok?”

She’s been telling him that all summer, kept going even after had told her to go fuck herself for the hundredth time.  _ You can talk to me _ . She still does it — like now. Like everything that’s happened between them — everything that Billy’s done to her, doesn’t matter now, because he got fucking possessed, tried to off her friends and then saved them, and that, apparently, makes up for what he put her through and for the hundreds of people he’s killed. Max’s not stupid, but she’s still pathetically naive. 

“It’s sweet of you, but there’s nothing to talk about, ok?” Billy says. “It happened, and it’s still shit, but I don’t see how me telling you about how fucking shitty everything’s been could help any of us.”

“Because bottling everything up has been  _ so  _ successful for you,” Max says.

“What do you want me to say, Max? That I still see pieces of that cold alternate fucking reality whenever I close my eyes, sometimes when I don’t? That I can’t fucking sleep most of the time because I’m still too busy processing that this  _ thing _ killed that many people while using me to do it, and when I do, I wake up every ten minutes because of the nightmares I have? That this isn’t even the worse it gets, that I’ve stopped the sleeping meds they gave me at the clinic because they made me sleep longer but they didn’t make the rest go away? ‘s that what you want to hear?”

Max looks at him, unimpressed. She’s smiling, though. It’s sad, but it’s a smile. “That’s a start,” she says.

Billy finishes up his beer. “God, you’re  _ such _ a shit,” he says.

Max’s still smiling. “You know, first time I met you, I was excited,” she says. “I was thinking, like, ‘jeez, I’m gonna get a cool big brother’. I was ready to brag about you to all my friends.”

“That’s cute,” Billy says.

“And then you were such a  _ douchebag _ ,” Max says, not listening to him. “But you were also kind of nice, sometimes, and you warned me about Neil that one time — god, I don’t even know if you remember that.” Billy does. It was the first time Neil had laid a hand on her. He just grabbed her wrist, but it was enough for Max to get what kind of a person he was. “I cared about you way long before I first saw what he was doing to you, you know,” Max says. “I wanted to hate you, because you were such a prick, and you made my life a nightmare and you had no right, but I couldn’t not  _ care _ .” She pauses to drink some of her hot coco. “My point is,” she says then. “I don’t give a shit about you now that you’ve been through — what you’ve been through. And I don’t think you trying to be decent now makes up for the literal years you were a dick to me. I’m still mad at you sometimes. For all of that, and for shit you do now. But believe it or not, I also give a damn — so stop pretending I’m just pitying you and accept that you can  _ talk to me _ .”

Max has the sleeves of her sweater pulled down to the middle of her hands, and her frizzy hair forming a halo on the top of her head, and a pink winter blush all across her face, and she looks exactly her age — like a kid, she also sounds more adult than most of the people Billy has ever hung out with. It terrifies him, sometimes.

“I’ll consider it,” he says.

Max grins. “Good,” she says.

When they’re done, Max insists on paying with the money Susan gave her for the week, but Billy ends up doing it. It makes the waitress smile and say something about how good of a big brother seems to be. She’s about his age, maybe a tiny bit older, and she looks at him the way the women at the pool did. The way Karen Wheeler did.

Sometimes Billy thinks it’s a good thing that both he and Karen never made it to the motel, because he wouldn’t have known what he’d have done if they had. Then he remembers he almost got himself killed on the way, that he still sees Heather’s face every night before waking up feeling like he’s choking. 

Still. He doesn’t know what he would have done. Doesn’t know what he was thinking. It seems stupid, now, him trying so hard back then.

Billy just smiles to the waitress and thanks her politely. She’s pretty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, full breasts under her uniform. She seems nice. Billy could have dated someone like her, if he was normal.

Outside, the storm is still raging.

_

“They’re probably dead by now,” Lucas says worriedly. “god, do you think he killed her?”

“You dickheads are the most dramatic bitches I know, do you know that?” Steve says.

“I wouldn’t be dramatic if my girlfriend wasn’t out there in the cold with the guy who got the entire damn city flayed and tried to kill us,” Lucas says, speaking loud, both because he’s visibly panicking and to cover the sound of Dustin munching on his chips. “Don’t you remember what happened to Will? Billy could, like, become a host again, and we’d all be  _ dead _ .”

“Well it’s a little late to worry about that, don’t you think?” Steve says. “Just — relax, ok? They’re probably on their way back. It’s not like something could happen to them in this town. Have you seen the place? There are probably just like, cows here.”

_ Relax _ , says the guy who’s got a nail bat down the seat between his legs. His hand is around the handle, has been since Billy and Max left the car.  _ Just to be sure _ , he tells himself.  _ Just in case something happens _ . He knows it’s not normal. He knows it’s not sane. Everything he says to Lucas — he knows that. He can’t exactly control anything that crosses his mind either. He’s been proved that monsters could come back to life two times, now. It’s not exactly crazy to be worried about a third.

The kids are right in the middle of a conversation about how Mind Flayer or not, Billy would perfectly be capable of murdering Max and pretending she got stabbed by some obscure village weirdo because it would be the perfect cover, Mike being, weirdly, the one somewhat defending him, when the front and back doors open at the same time. Steve’s grip on the bat tightens, then instantly loosens.  _ Fucking relax _ .

Billy literally  _ crashes _ on the front seat. Max climbs on top of Mike, then Lucas, who both fucking  _ screech _ , to get back at her place.

“Where the hell were you?” Lucas yells.

“Jeez, it hasn’t even been that long,” Max says, laughing a little bit. “It’s a village, Lucas. It was a whole  _ quest _ . Do you know how much effort it takes to find  _ food _ in that kind of place?”

Billy is taking cardboard boxes out of a paper bag as Max and Lucas argue. They’re covered in snow, and the food’s probably cold. He hands Steve one.

“Thanks,” Steve says.

Billy says nothing and practically throws the paper bag on Max’s lap for the kids to take.

“Did you kill someone for that?” Dustin says. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Billy says. “His name was Craig. Very nice dude. Broke my sweet little heart slitting his throat over a couple cheeseburgers.”

“You really think you’re the shit, huh?” Dustin says, unimpressed. “That’s not funny.”

“Well, think twice next time you wanna ask a stupid fucking question,” Billy says.

Pretty much everyone starts eating from then, which is good. At least nobody’s talking that much anymore. Steve loves the kids, he really does, but it’s been a long fucking day. He unpacks the cardboard box and takes the cheeseburger in his hands. For a moment, it’s just them eating over the sound of Metallica.

The burger is tepid. It’s good enough.

_

It takes a moment for Billy to remember where he is.

It’s completely dark when he opens his eyes, and he practically can’t see shit. 

A window covered in snow. A steering wheel. The shape of a rear-view mirror with something he can’t identify hanging. Is he in his mother’s car? No, he’s not eight anymore. He puts a hand next to himself, fumbling, looking for something that would get him out of the dark, quick, quick, quick. He can feel leather under his fingers.

Leather. No guts. No blood. No corpses reduced to raw meat. Good.

Leather, ok. He’s in a car, right, true,  _ fucking remember _ . Is he in his car? No, he’s car’s been smashed at Starcourt. Shit, Starcourt again. The monster. Him trying to run into Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington running into him. Later — him trying to hold El down. Her saving him. Him saving her. Him dying, dying,  _ dying _ .

He smells smoke — cigarette smoke. Is he with his father? No. Neil is in Hawkins. 

He’s not in Hawkins, is he?

He turns his head slowly, carefully, trying to figure out who it is sitting next to him. It’s so dark ; his view isn’t adjusted yet.

It’s Harrington.

Billy breathes out. Loosens a grip he didn’t know he had on the seat. His fingers hurt — fingerless gloves are useless in the cold.

Harrington, ok. Just Harrington. Billy closes his eyes. He breathes in, breathes out.  _ Remember _ , he tells himself.  _ Just fucking remember. _

They’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, Ohio, where they stopped on the way to Bangor, Maine, because there was a snow storm. It didn’t stop snowing, so they decided they would sleep in the car and see what they could do in the morning. Max and her friends are asleep on the backseat, sharing a blanket too small to cover them all completely, but that’s all Billy could find in the trunk. Billy doesn’t have to look back to know this — he  _ knows _ this — but he does anyway, because if anything has happened, if they’re not there anymore, if something killed them — 

Nothing did. They’re peacefully sleeping, Henderson with his head lying on Max’s shoulder and Wheeler on Lucas and Max’s lap, sucking his thumb.

Billy turns back. He lays down on his seat and takes a deep breath.  _ It’s over _ , he tells himself.  _ It’s over, it’s over, it’s over _ .

It only occurs to him a minute later that Harrington is probably watching him have a mental breakdown.

Fuck. He’s gotta get his shit together. Fuck fuck  _ fuck _ .

He looks over at Harrington. He’s not looking at him ; he must have heard him waking up, though.

“Are these my smokes?” Billy asks, pointing at the Camels in Steve’s lap. Breathe in, breathe out. Sound normal.  _ Be normal _ , for god’s sake.

Steve looks over at him, then down at the cigarettes. “Yup,” he says, blowing out some smoke. “Sorry, bud.”

Billy grunts. “Whatever,” he says. He leans over to grab the pack, and lights himself a cig.

“Nightmares?” Steve asks, whispering, probably remembering that the kids are sleeping behind them, too. He sounds soft.

“Did I fucking ask you?” Billy says. He can’t turn his back to Harrington when sitting in a car, so he just leans on the door and looks through the window. There’s nothing to see, though — it’s covered in snow.

His breath is still shaky.

“I went outside for a piss,” Steve says, ignoring him. “It stopped snowing.”

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” Billy grunts.

Steve stubbs the butt of his cigarette and takes another one, not asking Billy for permission. Billy would have jumped his throat for that a year ago. He keeps thinking of all the things he used to do, all the bite and violence and threats he would put in everything, and how he doesn’t have the energy to do that anymore. He misses it, sometimes. It was easier.

It wasn’t.

He watches Steve light is own cigarette. How much time has it been since he woke up? Fuck, Billy doesn’t even know what time it is. Has Steve even fallen asleep at all?

He remembers Max telling Billy something about Steve having been there the two previous times when the monster attacked. That’s two years, according to what everyone’s said. Has Harrington been dealing with this for two fucking years?

“Yeah,” Billy says with a voice so soft and quiet he doesn’t recognize himself. “Nightmares.”

Steve drags on his cig. He doesn’t really blow the smoke, just let it get out of his mouth as he quietly breathes out. Billy can see a little bit better now. It’s still dark as shit, but he can make out most of what Harrington looks like, remember his features anyway. Most of the time, it feels like he remembers them too much. Billy’s pathetic like that.

“Figured,” Steve says.

He runs a hand down his hair. Billy looks at his fingers curling and uncurling, at his tendons tensing. He’s too sleepy and nervous to hold his thoughts back, to keep himself from being obsessed by Steve Harrington’s hands. 

“You too?” Billy asks. Is he really asking this? Is he allowed to?

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Sucks, huh.” He’s trying to sound chill, too, but he isn’t. The hand that’s not holding the cigarette is on the bat between his legs, now. Billy can’t blame him ; to be honest, he’s kind of jealous. Because he could do with a nailed bat himself, or with Steve’s hand on him. Fuck. It’s too late — or early — for that kind of shit.  _ Get it together _ . 

“God,” Steve says. “I could really do with some weed.”

“I have weed,” Billy says.

“Yeah?” Steve says, looking at Billy, his eyes hopeful and full of things that Billy’s probably making up. He always feels like he’s drunk or on something when he wakes up from these nightmares. “Here?”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Just not for your sorry ass.”

Steve throws a punch in his shoulder. “Asshole,” he says, laughing.

The weed is in Billy’s backpack under the backseat. He wonders how many of these laughs he could get from Steve with it. If they were somewhere else, without the kids behind them, Billy would roll them a joint and they would get stoned in this very car, laughing and relaxing and forgetting about all this shit. Maybe Steve would let him touch his hands. Billy would let him touch everything else. If Steve wants that. Billy wants that.

But they’re here. In Ohio. And anyway — Steve’s fucked up, too, but not in that specific way.

“I’ll let you have some when we finally get there,” Billy says. “If you’re nice.”

Steve smiles, Billy thinks. “I’ll try my best,” Steve says.

But that’s the thing about Steve.

He doesn’t have to try.

_

By the time they reach Bangor the next day, it’s nine in the evening and Billy hasn’t stopped driving since the morning. They didn’t even stop to eat, just ordered shit from a McDonalds drive through, and the one bathroom stop they had doesn’t count, because it was  _ five minutes _ during which Wheeler and Henderson kept yelling that they had to be quick because they didn’t want to arrive too late.

Steve’s offered to drive. Four times. Billy refused, once threatening Harrington to cut his dick off if he even put a finger on the wheel. It’s more of a force of habit, because he wouldn’t let anyone fuck with his Camaro before, and this isn’t even his car, but hey, fuck it — Billy can’t do a  _ lot _ of things anymore, but he can drive a fucking minivan full of children through six different states in a day. Let him fucking be.

It’s not storming like it was yesterday, thank god, but there’s still a tiny bit of snow falling and covering the town. Wheeler is already talking about a snowball battle in the morning tomorrow. Billy doesn’t remember being that fucking happy about everything at fourteen years old.

“You think they’re gonna be, like, happy to see us?” Max asks, her voice tiny.

“What?” Henderson asks. “Of course they are! We’re their best friends!”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Max says. “It’s just — it sounds stupid, but since we haven’t told them anything, and like, I know it’s the point of a  _ surprise _ , but — maybe they didn’t want to see us right now, you know?”

Steve shifts in his seat, turning to face the kids. “Hey,” Steve says. Here it is — the dad voice. “They haven’t seen you since what, September, right?” There’s a pause. Max probably nods. “I don’t think any moment would be the wrong moment for you guys to crash there. They probably miss you like  _ hell _ . They’re gonna be fucking crazy to see you again.”

Billy turns the wheel to park the car. “They better be,” he says, reaching for his Camels already. “We’re here.”

“ _ What _ ?” Wheeler exclaims. “Jesus, Hargrove, you could warn a guy!”

“I’m warning you now,” Billy says, unbuckling himself. “What difference does it make?”

“I don’t know!” Wheeler says. “It’s just — I needed time to prepare myself, ok?”

“You’ve been through like, so much worse,” Billy says. “You’ll survive.” But Billy knows that having seen  _ worse _ doesn’t make this any easier. They’re best friends, all of them — and Wheeler has this thing for El, apparently. It’s scary. Billy knows, because Steve is sitting right next to him, and it’s hard to even look at him.

They get out of the car. Steve takes the nail bat with him. No one questions him about it.

It takes them a while to take all of their stuff out of the trunk, and Henderson keeps shout-whispering at the others to be quieter, because El and Will are gonna hear them before they even ring the door. 

Once they’re in front of it, it takes them a good moment to do anything. It’s painful to watch, how they just give each other worried looks and whisper at each other, things like  _ should we ring now _ or  _ I hope they’re both at home _ until Steve sighs a  _ oh, for god’s sake _ and rings for them. They pester at him for stealing their moment — despite not having done anything to take it.

It’s El who opens the door.

Her hair is significantly longer than the last time Billy saw her, falling on the top of her chest and covering the washed out, oversized yellow hoodie she’s wearing. She looks older, too.

“Oh my god,” she says, barely audible, voice muffled behind her hands. She sounds like she’s gonna cry.

“Uh, hi,” Wheeler says.

“Surprise!” Henderson says.

Max and Lucas don’t really have time to say anything, because El is shouting at Byers to come downstairs right now and running to hug them all. She’s only wearing fuzzy socks. They get soaked in the melted snow.

Byers gets down, then. They hug him, too, everyone at once. He might be crying a little bit, but Billy can’t really tell. It’s a little awkward, just standing there, him with his cigarette, Steve with his nail bat. They share a look. 

Steve’s smiling like this, right here, is the best thing that’s happened in the world.

With everything that’s been going on, it probably is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you might have noticed, final chapter count has been upped to five. since I'm done outlining the fic, i should stick to that now, which means three more to go.
> 
> if you liked this, consider leaving a comment! it's really encourageing and i love seeing what you guys think.
> 
> [art blog](http://robomori.tumblr.com/) / [ personal blog](http://robomind.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/robomori)


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